Work Text:
Maxwell stares at the form where he needs to declare his major.
He knows what he's supposed to put down. But try as he might, he can't quite bring himself to write “business” in the box.
He's sorely tempted to put “gentleman fisting”, but he kind of still wants his school fees paid for by his father. He lets himself imagine, for a moment, the look of apoplectic horror and rage that his father would have upon seeing it.
Too bad he wouldn't be there to witness it, even if he did write it down.
What other options did he have?
He wasn't good at chemistry or anything like that, like Samwell. Not that Samwell had chosen to pursue that, anyway. And he really didn't have the business acumen that Blanewell had. He had no idea what Hatwell and Roywell had chosen, and honestly, at this point, he was too afraid to ask. Father had given up on persuading Wealwell to choose anything useful for the family business and had just been relieved that it was at least a reputable endeavour.
Which left Maxwell.
Besides his martial arts clubs, what other classes had he liked?
He hadn't quite had the head for statistics, but he had enjoyed mathematics.
Technically, mathematics could probably get his school fees paid for and still allow him to choose whatever subjects he wanted…
Maxwell nods decisively and puts his pen to paper.
His Introduction to Number Theory class is where he first properly meets pure mathematics. It’s confusing and exhilarating in equal parts. He’s pretty sure his professor actually takes joy in the suffering of his students, and has deputised his TAs to continue that suffering in the tutorials as well.
Maxwell and his fellow classmates turn to each other in a sort of forced camaraderie as they navigate the non-answers from the teaching staff. Through the proofs and theorems and the endless wasted pages of mathematical dead ends, they fight their way through the coursework.. When they’re in the depths of a proof that seems impossible, the subject feels like it’s designed to make them quit. But when they finally get to the solution, it’s an absolutely unparalleled feeling of triumph.
Somewhere along the way, Maxwell finds that he does really enjoy the major he originally declared just to pass under the radar. He isn't as good at maths as some of his fellow classmates, but he puts in the work to try to keep up. He finds himself getting lost in the problems, losing hours as he works through them.
Without him really noticing it, between gentleman fisting and maths classes, his undergraduate studies draw to a close.
Maxwell doesn’t really want to return home to join his father’s business. It honestly doesn’t seem like any of his brothers enjoys it particularly much. So he tells his father he’ll be staying on for a Masters degree.
Two years later, he tells him that he’s staying on for his doctorate.
His father, luckily, just scans his paperwork, sees it’s with the school of mathematics, and doesn’t ask any more questions.
Almost a year after receiving his doctorate, Maxwell wanders into the workshop-slash-laboratory that Marya spends most of her time in, looking for her as he takes inventory. She’s not there, but the large blackboard that takes up one of the walls is covered in equations.
It’s not like he’s looking for it on purpose, he swears.
Maxwell glances over the equations, tilts his head curiously, and idly reaches for some chalk to continue where the equations left off.
He’s pulled from his reverie when a hand taps on his shoulder and he startles, jumping up from where he contemplates the last row of calculations into a fighting stance, chalk snapping between his fingers.
“Woah!” Marya says, pulling back with both hands up.
Maxwell gives himself one breath, two, then three, before he can feel the adrenaline start to fade. Judging by the light, it had been more than three hours since he wandered in. “Hi, sorry, I know I didn’t ask but I thought I’d give it a go while I waited.”
“Maxwell, you’ve been holding out on us!” Marya examines the equations that Maxwell has added, nodding slightly as she reviews each one. Ludmila and Olethra are still standing in the doorway, mouths agape.
Marya rounds on him when she finishes. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“Uh - I couldn’t declare gentleman fisting as my major, my father would have stopped paying my school fees. I was, uh. The major I declared at Revington was mathematics.”
“Mathematics.” Marya’s tone is flat. Ludmila and Olethra have not moved from the doorway..
“I mean, I was just looking for something vaguely business related. It was - I studied in the school of pure mathematics. My thesis was on numerical methods for partial differential equations using boundary value problems.”
“Pure mathematics. Your major was pure mathematics.”
“Yes?”
“You are a man of many mysteries, Maxwell Gotch,” she says. “How are you at explaining your work?”
“Oh, I used to supervise the tutorials for the undergrads at Revington,” Maxwell says.
Marya tosses over a notebook.
“Can you take a look over these and explain how to solve them to Olethra and Mila? I tried to explain but they didn’t seem to understand.”
Olethra and Ludmila finally break out of their surprise and make their way over to Maxwell as he finds a bench to open the notebook at. He grabs a stray pencil and opens up the first problem.
“Oh, for this we need to transform the co-ordinates, otherwise the problem becomes too difficult.” He points out the line for the women gathered behind him, drawing a quick diagram and outlining the methods and tools he would use for the analysis.
“Why do you teach this so well?” Olethra blurts out when they get to the solution, estimated to three decimal places.
“I spent almost ten years as a TA,” Maxwell says distractedly. “I’ve taught some idiots in my time.” His brain catches up to his mouth. “Not that I think you’re an idiot, I just mean -”
Olethra bursts into laughter, which sets Ludmila and Marya off.
Maxwell just sighs.